


Tidings of Comfort (with an option for joy)

by winterdaffodils (zhem1x5)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Idiot harry, M/M, Secret Santa, and where is Severus anyway, horrible horrible gift giving skills, just a little envious Ron, knowing Hermione, uncertain Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhem1x5/pseuds/winterdaffodils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry draws a very unexpected name for Secret Santa (though really, how could he have hoped for anything/one else).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tidings of Comfort (with an option for joy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alafaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/gifts).



> The sad truth of all fandom: I do not own them, receive only personal pleasure from playing with them occasionally, and hope the authoress herself or her lawyers are never truly offended by my attempts at flattery.
> 
>  
> 
> I was so excited to take part in this year's HPHoliday exchange fest. It was my first exchange and was a ton of fun.
> 
>  
> 
> Title taken lovingly from the carol 'God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen' of which I really only know the first two lines.

“Ministry-wide,” Harry muttered, face twisting in dismay as he read the pale yellow scroll that had refused to be put off until his other paperwork had been sorted.

 

A short, polite knock announced Hermione, her own face set in determination as she held her own green scroll.

 

“Hey,” Harry murmured distractedly, lips moving as he read through the entire parchment, key phrases catching his attention and darkening his mood. “Have you seen this?”

 

“Yes, Harry, you know I assisted in the planning and implementing.”

 

“Hermione,” Harry whinged, waving the official parchment in her face as though expecting it to change.

 

“There's no getting out of it, Harry,” she answered, well aware of and expecting his reaction. “It's chosen at random and binding, like the Goblet of Fire.”

 

Harry grimaced, dropping the letter onto his desk. “It does feel about like that. In without my consent. Chosen.”

 

He would have continued in that vein but Hermione hushed him quickly. “What are you going to get him?”

 

“You know who I have? Do you know all the pairs?”

 

“No, just yours. I wanted to make sure that...” She smiled, sitting down and waiting for him to do the same. “So what will you get him?”

 

“Black robes,” Harry answered immediately, his lips twisting into a smirk as he waited for her reaction.

 

He was not disappointed.

 

“Harry!”

 

.oOo.

 

Hermione watched anxiously as Draco accepted his first gift from the Ministry owl delivering it. He glanced around quickly but everyone else in their office was occupied with tearing into their own gifts and thus paid him no mind. Only Hermione saw him surreptitiously draw his wand and begin casting the revealing and protective charms Severus had taught him years ago.

 

Her heart nearly stopped when he finally deemed it safe enough to open. She hoped Harry had not carried through on his promise of Death Eater robes, the small box offering no consolation.

 

The plain lid came off the box and for a long moment Draco didn't move. He forced a pleasant smile onto his face, looking around to see if anyone was watching. His disappointment was palpable to anyone who knew him, rolling off of him in waves as he drew out a long feathered shaft.

 

“You know how I like quills,” he murmured to no one in particular.

 

.oOo.

 

“A quill set, Harry? You got him quills?”

 

“Everyone likes quills,” Harry snapped defensively.

 

“What'd you get him for tomorrow, parchment? How would you like receiving those for Christmas?”

 

Harry flushed. “Well, I...”

 

“What is he supposed to do with that? Write his mother?”

 

“Maybe!”

 

“Harry,” Hermione sighed, sadness and disappointment in every movement. “This was supposed to be a bonding activity, bringing various departments together, not proving we haven't grown up since Hogwarts and can't put even a bit of thought into what someone might like.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Harry finally capitulated, knowing it was the only way. “I'll do better.”

 

“Please do, Draco is...well, Severus and I had to convince him to participate too and you're giving him plenty of proof why he shouldn't have bothered.”

 

.oOo.

 

“You got him a book,” Hermione asked incredulously when Harry showed her his next choice of Secret Santa gift.

 

Harry nodded, grinning and certain she would approve. She was Hermione after all, and it _was_ a book.

 

“While normally I'd be amazed you remembered how to find a bookstore,” she muttered, turning the slim volume over in her hands. “Did you have to get him a book on improving his flying techniques?”

 

“You said to put some thought into it,” Harry pointed out somewhat snidely. “I _thought_ and remembered how much Malfoy liked Quidditch and flying.”

 

“Yes, he _did_ like those things. In school,” Hermione stressed less than gently. “But he doesn't fly anymore. And while it doesn't exactly say 'so you've been beaten by Harry Potter...' it may as well. Why did you buy this?”

 

“I just thought he would appreciate it,” Harry muttered, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “Why doesn't he fly?”

 

“It doesn't matter, Harry,” Hermione insisted, refusing to answer that in Draco's stead.

 

“You pick something out then, if you're so good at it,” Harry crossed his arms over his chest, challenging her. “Well, what would you get him then,” he demanded, angry for no reason that he could explain.

 

Hermione sighed, looking down in thought. “Maybe a permanently spring flower pot, with a plot of narcissus, in honour of his mother and her contribution to the war.”

 

Harry flushed. “Wouldn't that be kinda....girlie? Romantic, I mean,” he corrected before she could wallop him one.

 

“I believe the words you're looking for are thoughtful and willing to let bygones be bygones,” she responded in clipped tones. “Draco's been a hard worker and a valuable member of my team for nearly five years. He's also been a good friend. And if I have to see him blinking back tears and stuffing his emotions behind a wall because of some inconsiderate jackass one more time, it won't be from me and you won't just be getting friendly advice.”

 

.oOo.

 

Harry stared at the parchment in his hands, deciding on and dismissing options left and right and completely _Confunded_ as to what he might get Draco Malfoy for Christmas.

 

Hermione had been adamant he send things that weren't just intended to rattle her coworker, though Harry could certainly see the fun in that. They had spent seven years at Hogwarts trying to irritate, hex, and otherwise drive each other over the edge. It didn't seem much should have changed.

 

But if what Hermione said was true, that she had had to beg, plead, threaten, and promise just to get Malfoy to agree to participate, maybe it wasn't Harry's place to drive him away again. Bygones and all that.

 

.oOo.

 

“Wine,” Harry said, grinning as if it was the answer to everything. “Everyone loves wine. It's the perfect gift for someone you don't know well.”

 

“Don't do it,” Hermione answered distractedly, her attention on a quarter inch thick sheaf of paper, small print melting into a cloud from where Harry sat, his eyes crossing when he tried to catch a glimpse. Sometimes he was grateful they had adapted Muggle forms of record keeping and sometimes Harry hated it.

 

“Why not wine,” he asked after a fruitless moment, turning back to his own neglected paperwork.

 

“Severus has since taught him spells of course but potion, potion, poison, and poison,” she answered, crossing through a large block of text with her biro.

 

“Really,” Harry breathed, dumbfounded.

 

“Yes.”

 

“No wine then,” Harry conceded.

 

.oOo.

 

Harry grinned when the owl dropped off the third gift from his Secret Santa. It was going well and he was already looking forward to participating next year. After all, he couldn't be assigned Malfoy twice.

 

He pulled off the perfectly Gryffindor red and gold wrapping paper, approving of the gift already.

 

A wooden box carved with lion rampant greeted him. Very nice. Inside lay a dormant Snitch, its iridescent wings folded perfectly at rest. The note attached claimed Harry was one of the best flyers his Santa had ever seen and expressed a wish to someday fly together.

 

He was still grinning, seriously considering it, when Hermione called out his name.

 

“You got him a lunch at the Leaky,” Hermione demanded through their inter-office Floo.

 

Harry cringed away, the green of the magical flames casting an eerie light over her hair and eyes. “Well, yeah, everyone loves the Leaky. I thought he might like to go and have as much of whatever he likes, free of charge.” He shrugged, it sounded like a good gift to him. Ron would have loved it.

 

Green lit up the sudden wet sheen in Hermione's eyes. She opened her mouth only to close it again and Harry felt a little guilty to have left her speechless.

 

“They don't-Draco only eats from the Leaky when the entire department gets takeaway,” she said finally, her voice soft and almost hoarse.

 

“Should I have gotten him a meal somewhere expensively pure-blood then,” Harry demanded, irritation squirming through every muscle until he felt tight and cramped with building anger.

 

“No, Harry, he actually loves the Leaky.” Hermione's tone was scathing though her words weren’t particularly.

 

.oOo.

 

“What's that,” Ron asked, plopping down in the chair Harry kept for them.

 

“Huh,” Harry looked up distractedly, giving Ron a half-grin. “My Secret Santa gift.”

 

Ron waited for more but Harry had turned his mind back to turning pages. Finally he stood, putting a knee in his seat and leaning over the desk for a peek. Squiggly lines and highlighted words were all he could really discern. “What's that then,” he asked again.

 

“My Secret Santa gift,” Harry answered with a smile, like they hadn't already covered that part of the conversation.

 

“Yeah, but what is it?”

 

“Oh!” Harry grinned holding up the blank spine. “My family.”

 

“What,” Ron asked, leaning further and planting a hand on Harry's desk to give himself leverage.

 

Harry turned the book around obligingly, showing Ron the multitude of Potters the book contained.

 

“Blimey,” Ron muttered, tracing from Harry at the end of one branch back through many more, turning pages backward until he reach the first one. Pious Potter had married Angus Tailor in the 13th century and they had borne five sons and three daughters. Apparently he really had been a potter. And a pious one at that.

 

“Isn't it incredible,” Harry asked, joy evident in his face and tone.

 

“Beyond that,” Ron agreed, a little jealous at the time and effort this would have required. His own Secret Santa had just been supplying him with sweets and snacks, and he'd thought he'd been lucky after last year's debacle with the WWW products.

 

“Who do you think-I mean, who would go to the trouble to do something like this,” Harry asked, looking back down at his family in awe. “It wasn't you, was it?”

 

“I wish,” Ron answered honestly, laughing a bit. “I want one for myself.”

 

.oOo.

 

“Draco, have you that--” Hermione stopped, blocking his door for a long moment. “Is that your newest Secret Santa gift,” she asked, settling into the chair across from his desk and looking at him expectantly.

 

Draco glanced up quickly before looking down again at the really very badly wrapped gift in his lap. His fingers picked at the edges purposefully though he had no desire to open the gift.

 

“Aren't you going to open it,” she asked gently, leaning closer to his desk to look down at the present. “Perhaps it will look more appealing unwrapped,” she suggested with a smile.

 

“I'm almost afraid of what this one will be,” he muttered honestly, sucking in a bracing breath and tearing into the thick wrapping.

 

“What is it,” Hermione demanded when he stopped moving.

 

“Sticky,” Draco answered absently. “Will you-” he gestured with a duck of his head, his fingers covered in a mess of pastry and syrup.

 

“What,” Hermione stood, drawing her wand and leaning over his desk. “It must have gotten shaken in transit,” she offered, spelling away the mess.

 

“Somehow I doubt that, it came from inside the Ministry,” he pointed out, pressing the wrapping in again and setting the gift off to the side.

 

“I'm sure your Santa meant well,” she tried, glancing in dismay at the gift left to be forgotten.

 

.oOo.

 

“Well,” Harry demanded before Hermione had even sat back in her chair.

 

“Well,” she echoed reluctantly, unsure how to tell him his gift had been received. “He's not...it was...it was a thoughtful gift, Harry,” she finally settled on saying, looking down at his desk.

 

“He hated it? Threw it out? Doesn't bloody well eat sweets,” Harry growled, his hands tensing against his desk and wrinkling the reports he was supposed to be fact checking. “I've never had to work so hard in my life, he's worse than a bloody girl.”

 

Hermione flushed, angry on behalf of her gender and her friend. “He didn't even want to open it, if you must know. Considering the absolute shit storm failure of the first ones, I could hardly blame him.”

 

“Hey-”

 

“Do you know why he hasn't participated in this exchange in four years, why Severus and I had to convince him it would be alright, that enough time had gone by? He was hexed and nearly poisoned that first year! Opened a perfectly nice looking gift and spent weeks walking around with a floating Morsmorde over his head. He went home in tears every day and I--” she stopped suddenly, her hand flying to cover her mouth as though to stop the flow of too many words.

 

Harry stared in silent shock, his hands gone limp and something that felt suspiciously like guilt clawing at his insides. He remembered that hex. He remembered how hilarious the entire department had thought it, how fitting. “I'm sorry,” he whispered to the Malfoy in his memory and Hermione's eyes teared up.

 

.oOo.

 

Harry fiddled with his quill anxiously, staring down at the blank parchment. He didn't know what had possessed him to go through with it but now it was over but for the doing. A few quick words written in a neat hand and he could send his penultimate gift.

 

After so many failures it was hard to know what to say; embarrassing because of how sentimental the gift was, both because he was sending it to someone he didn't really know and because Hermione had had to tell him how. Again. She was horrible when she was smug.

 

Harry rolled the quill between his fingers, watching the ink well at the edge of the nib.

 

Finally he leaned forward, holding the parchment in place and taking extra care for neatness.

 

_Your mum was a nice lady._

 

That was horrible. And possibly untrue.

 

He crossed it out, cursing himself, before balling up the parchment and chucking it toward the rubbish bin. It missed. But then he'd been a seeker and not a chaser though he might have made a fair keeper. He blinked back to himself after a long moment of bitter internal debate.

 

More blank parchment stared up at him, taunting him. There had to be something.

 

_The past is the past. Your mum saved us all._

 

Not bad, Harry thought, resting his forehead in his palm and wishing he could slam it against the desk instead. His co-workers tended to frown on his doing that but sometimes it helped him think. Or at least hurt enough to provide a distraction.

 

“Okay, focus,” he hissed to himself. “What would Malfoy appreciate….”

 

It came to him quite suddenly, the perfect thing to convey his own appreciation without overstepping the bounds of their bare civility. Harry smiled as he began to write.

 

.oOo.

 

“I'm almost afraid to ask,” Hermione whispered, settling into her chair across from Draco with a heavy feeling.

 

He didn't look up. The gift rested near at hand on the desk though he wasn't gazing at it or even really acknowledging the elephant in the room.

 

“Well,” she asked, reaching forward to tap quickly on the desk, trying to catch a glimpse of the note Harry had written. “Is it a good one?”

 

“Hmm, oh, I suppose,” he murmured, darting a quick glance at it. “Thought out.”

 

“That's good, isn't it,” Hermione asked gently, staring at his downturned head. His brows were knit together and he was worrying his lower lip. It made her uncommonly nervous. “Are you okay?”

 

Draco pressed his lips together in imitation of a smile. “You supervised the assignments, didn't you? You know who's giving things to me?”

 

“Yes,” she answered cautiously, drawing her hand back toward her lap. “But I can't tell you,” she warned, frowning a little as though she expected him to demand it.

 

“Oh no! No,” Draco said quickly, holding up his own hands as if to ward off her words. “I-I don't want to know, but, do you think-is it alright-would Severus approve?”

 

“Yes, I really think so,” Hermione said, reaching out again to soothe him.

 

“Okay,” Draco said, nodding to himself.

 

“It really is a lovely gift,” she told him, determined to ask Harry what he had written in the note attached to the ever-blooming narcissus.

 

.oOo.

 

“How'd I do,” Harry asked nervously, waiting for either a telling off or, well, that was actually about all he expected.

 

“What'd you write in the note,” Hermione demanded a little breathlessly. “You know you're not supposed to send anything identifiable.”

 

“I didn't,” Harry defended, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wrote very neatly, I'll have you know. With quill and parchment so he'd never guess.”

 

Hermione had to agree though for different reasons. Draco had been too distracted by it to care to find the sender. “What did you write to him then,” she repeated, conceding without conceding.

 

Harry promptly blushed, mortified. “He'll hex me when he finds out. It was so sappy, soppy, AK-me-now. He probably will.”

 

“Harry!” Hermione shook her head furiously, dismayed because of Harry's thought process and the valid worry he might have had even a few years ago. “He wouldn't. He won't. He wasn't even upset by it. If anything....what did you write?”

 

“I said that his mother was a brave woman and deserved to be remembered. Or something like that,” he shrugged. “He wasn't angry? Didn't throw it out?”

 

“No, Harry, I think he was touched. Maybe a little comforted.”

 

Harry's blush deepened, but he smiled.

 

.oOo.

 

“You have to come to the party,” Hermione said, hands on her hips and well prepared for any arguments because she had already had a very similar conversation with Severus and Draco. Of course she'd had Severus on her side for that confrontation, his wanting the best for Draco tended to fall in line with her own ideas for protecting him these days.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry agreed quickly, not looking up from his work.

 

“Okay,” she asked incredulously, stalking up to his desk and stopping only when she fairly loomed over him. “What do you mean 'okay'? I've had to drag you kicking and screaming through every step of this,” she pointed out.

 

“Well, yeah, but now I'm curious who my Santa is,” Harry said, leaning back and pushing his glasses further up his nose.

 

“So it's only for the gifts; curiosity. Why am I surprised,” she snorted, shaking her head but retreating to her usual chair.

 

“Did you have to convince Malfoy? You came in awfully gung-ho.”

 

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh, pressing the fingers of her left hand against her temple. “He still gets a lot of negative attention at Ministry functions. Skips them mostly.”

 

Harry nodded, well aware of how much simpler life was when you avoided politicians and officials. “He agreed though, right? I'm working on something special for the last gift.”

 

“Yeah,” Hermione promised with a smile. “I told him he wouldn't want to miss it.”

 

.oOo.

 

Harry stood near the buffet, uncomfortably aware of the lingering attention of those serving themselves or just meandering past. He nodded and forced a smile for every _'Happy Christmas, Mr. Potter'_ or ' _Evening, Harry_ ' that came his way. His head hurt from the massive number of people he didn't know.

 

He had stood still, waiting, for over an hour now, figuring that if he didn't move and miss seeing him, he was bound to find Malfoy eventually. He hadn't really counted on the sheer number in attendance.

 

Before abandoning him, Hermione had assured him that Malfoy _would_ be there and Harry could only hope it would be before he lost his patience with the entire situation.

 

.oOo.

 

“Have you found your Santa yet,” Hermione asked quietly, looping her arm through his when she came to a stop. “You're looking very dashing this evening.”

 

Draco looked down at his rather plain, though formal, slate grey robes, quirking his eyebrow when he met her eyes. “Really,” he drawled thickly, watching as she flushed, thoroughly caught out.

 

“Alright,” she agreed, her smile beatific. “Really, you should have worn the blue. It makes your eyes glow.”

 

“I didn't realise I was here to pick up. Severus will be thrilled,” he answered, darting a quick look around to see if anyone was paying him undue attention.

 

“He's here,” Hermione whispered, leaning close so no one would hear and smiling as a blush bloomed on his cheeks. “You'll be fine, Severus will be fine,” she promised, stepping away. “Now, I’m off to find Ron before he finds the buffet.”

 

Draco smiled, watching her wander in the vague direction of where he'd seen the buffet set up, wondering if he shouldn't have convinced her to at least tell him the hair colour of the bloke he was looking for.

 

The unmistakable messy black hair of Harry Potter was hovering near the food so Draco turned and searched the other way.

 

.oOo.

 

“Harry,” Hermione called, joining him for a moment. “He's here, as I promised. Just over...oh, where has he gone now?”

 

Harry looked in the direction Hermione was pointing to, seeing nothing but a swirling mass of people. “I'm sure I'll say hello before the night is through,” he answered, swallowing his nerves when she met his words with a hard look.

 

“You will not chicken out, Harry Potter.”

 

“Of course not,” Harry sputtered, though really he was. “What if he doesn't like my gift,” he worried.

 

“He will. What did you get him?”

 

“It's a surprise,” Harry hedged, shifting nervously.

 

Hermione shook her head, patting him on the arm and heading off again.

 

Harry stood there awkwardly for a long minute, his eyes searching the ballroom once again. Surely Malfoy hadn't slipped out while Hermione had been trying to boost his confidence.

 

“Mr. Potter.”

 

Harry nodded a distracted greeting, straining his eyes through the mass of colour, searching for a head of hair he'd have sworn to know anywhere.

 

“I hope you didn't think me too forward, my gifts were...”

 

Harry tuned into the noise around him, hoping for even a whisper of the name Malfoy.

 

“I've admired you greatly...”

 

Wait, was that... Harry squinted. Somewhere between the Minister of France's buxom wife and their equally curvy daughter Harry thought he caught another glimpse of white blond hair.

 

“I'd hoped you might join me...”

 

Ah! “There!” Harry smiled, striding away from the man without much thought to even apologise.

 

.oOo.

 

Draco nodded politely, trying to keep his attention on the Vice-Foreign Minister's monologue. The man's English was broken at best and if he didn't listen carefully Draco knew he would miss something important. It was just that, well, his Santa was here somewhere, possibly getting bored with him already and searching for someone else to speak to. It was almost too frustrating to be trapped with a foreign dignitary.

 

“Ob course is not problem in my country, we handle dis matter quickly.”

 

Draco nodded, wishing he knew what the man was talking about. He shifted awkwardly, his toes aching from the single position.

 

“Mr. Malfoy,” the Vice-Minister began, shifting his own stance closer to Draco. “Had you ever considered diplomatic appointment in-- ah, I see you have not captured only my eyes.”

 

Draco watched in confusion as the man tilted his head politely and stepped away. He swallowed quickly, wishing he had paid more attention to his hair before leaving Severus at home. And his shoes. His robes. His _breath_. But that was expecting far too much, Severus would be disgusted with him. It may not even be his Secret Santa. It could very well be Hermione coming back to claim his attention and soothe his nerves. It could even be-

 

“Malfoy?”

 

Draco froze, refusing to turn, refusing to acknowledge the man behind him. He drew a deep breath and stepped away as though he had not heard the greeting.

 

.oOo.

 

“Come on, Malfoy, don't be like that,” Harry cajoled, reaching forward to clasp Malfoy's shoulder and stop him. “We've outgrown this behaviour, haven't we?”

 

He watched Malfoy stiffen, feeling amused when wide grey eyes met his.

 

“How may I help you,” Malfoy answered quietly, darting a quick eye around them.

 

Harry looked too, embarrassed that so many people seemed intent on his actions. “Well, I just wanted to tell you Happy Christmas. I'm your Secret Santa.”

 

Malfoy faltered for a moment, his eyes wide as they raked over Harry, and Harry wished he'd let Hermione dress him after all.

 

“And I thought,” Harry continued when Malfoy didn't speak. “Since we, well, I thought maybe we should let bygones be just that,” he finished in a rush, offering his hand for Malfoy to shake.

 

.oOo.

 

Draco glanced around quickly, aware of the eyes weighing and judging him and knowing he would come out wanting.  He wished Severus was there to take the attention off of him like he used to. He couldn't refuse Potter's hand, not like Potter had his when they were young, not when so many were watching, expecting him to fall all over himself in due gratitude.

 

He reached out reluctantly, giving Potter's hand a quick but firm shake. “Happy Christmas,” he wished before nodding politely and leaving the attention of the crowd quickly.

 

.oOo.

 

“What did you do,” Hermione hissed, pinching Harry's arm through his robes.

 

“Nothing,” Harry growled in return, twisting out of Hermione's surprisingly vicious grip. “I only wished him well.”

 

“You did something,” she challenged, forcing a smile for those whose attention they had gained. “You've embarrassed him. Fix it now,” she demanded, giving him a not-so-gentle shove.

 

Harry nodded, meeting curious stares until all eyes were averted before he attempted to follow Malfoy's path.

 

He found the other man in the queue for the Floo, waiting impatiently behind the Secretary of Foreign Finance and the Vice-Minister of...something. Harry really needed to learn these dignitaries. The Vice-Minister was speaking quietly with his companion though Harry saw his eyes straying to Malfoy.

 

“Oi, Malfoy,” he called quickly before the other man could catch the blond's attention.

 

Malfoy stiffened, turning to meet him like he was facing the gallows. “Good evening, Potter, can't chat just now, sorry.”

 

Harry waved him off, grinning as much as he could and feeling like an idiot. “Work stuff,” he answered for anyone listening too closely. “I know it's Christmas Eve, but it'll be quick.”

 

Malfoy clenched his jaw, stepping out of line with obvious reluctance. “Yes, of course,” he agreed, forced politeness in every line of his body.

 

“Thank you,” Harry said in utter sincerity, leading him over to a quieter corner. “I'm sorry about before. I thought that would go better,” he admitted as soon as they had privacy.

 

“I don't like to be made fun of, Potter,” Malfoy hissed, looking anywhere but at Harry.

 

“I, uh, I actually wanted to take you for dinner, but figured you'd say no if I asked outright without an apology or at least making it clear to everyone that I don't hate you,”  Harry whispered, shifting uncomfortably

 

Malfoy swallowed, his cheeks colouring and his hands clenching at his sides. “I would have refused,” he said quickly, shifting his weight to his left leg before relaxing a bit. “Because of Severus. But I wouldn't now, if you asked.”


End file.
